


the anchor holds

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: D:, Domestic, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fluff, Harry being kind of embarresingly in love, Kissing, M/M, TLC, being drunk, even after all these years, mentions of Nick Grimshaw in like two sentences, not sure why but the formatting is killing me on this one, only a little though, people in relationships that do things apart, unbetad, until the floor doesn't answer back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2565749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home is where Louis is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the anchor holds

**Author's Note:**

> In light of this weeks ~~[awesome insanity](http://karamelised.tumblr.com/post/101790566247/seriously-what-is-this-week-a-daily-timeline)~~ promo for Four, I decided to post this. Enjoy!

"Harry fucking Styles! Good to meet you."

Smiling automatically, Harry offers his hand in greeting. The urge to correct anyone has long since dissipated. Some people don't want to learn.

He stumbles forward when another party guest bumps into his back but luckily manages to avert any major mishaps. Thank god, he's only been here twenty minutes and running around with a champagne-stained shirt isn't his idea of a fun night out. 

The radio bigwig grabs his hand, pumping enthusiastically. Beside him, Nick Grimshaw is grinning like a demented loon, obviously proud with winning their little bet by getting one of the higher ups from Bauer Media over here. Since they own -- in one capacity or another -- pretty much all the major radio stations in the UK, Harry decides to ignore Nick's cocky grin. This is work and he's a twenty-something year old professional. Doesn't sound like much, but he's been in the business for twelve years, has helped shape it even.

Without stains on his shirt.

Score.

"Good to meet you, too. Lovely party you have here."

The guy waves him off even before Harry finishes the sentence. Of course. It's clear he had zero involvement in the planning and executing of this high-end gathering. The white and gold theme, the delicate floral arrangements and the almost chest high bistro tables -- only meant for use while standing, point made clear by not even providing bar stools -- don't really seem like this guy's style.

He's wearing a flashy Rolex, a perfectly tailored suit and a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Tall and obviously someone who hits the gym at least a couple of times a week. Classically good looks with a strong yaw that's almost too wide, perfect smile and a nice set of green eyes rounding off the image of a successful yet still somewhat young business man perfectly. He looks like a proper alpha male, one that's well aware of that fact, underlined by combed-back hair that is slightly too long.

Harry can't help but dislike him from the start. He chides himself internally, know everyone should be given the same chance.

"I hear you have a new album coming out?" The guy doesn't even look at him, catches the attention of a waitress and waves her over before fixing shrewd eyes on Harry. "Call me Steve, by the way."

The guy, _Steve_ , is around forty. Going by Nick's not-so-secret eyebrow wriggles he's also pretty high up the food chain. Due to the obvious power imbalance and the fact that Harry is only here for one thing, namely to promote their new album, this show of familiarity, of putting them on even grounds by offering Harry is first name, seems wrong. But whatever, Harry isn't here to make friends. He's here to charm people into playing the new One Direction songs on the radio, preferably during prime time. And while he doubts Steve listens to his songs, like ever, Harry is pretty good at charming even smarmy bastards.

So he smiles and replies simply, "Harry." It's a generic invitation but whatever.

By now the waitress has managed to squeeze her way through the throng of people without the empty glasses on her tray toppling to the floor. She stops besides them, a good head shorter than either, even in the high heels all the serving girls are wearing. She has a very pretty, heart shaped face, framed by long dark hair, body curvy and cute.

That fact is not lost on Steve, who gives her a complete once-over. Twice.

"Can I get you anything?" Her tone is professional and even manages to hide the fact that she's had to say that sentence a hundred times tonight already.

Harry likes her instantly, smiles warmly. He want to be showing his support to her dedication, hopes he manages without being creepy.

"Love," Steve drawls while making eye-contact with her chest. "Bring us some champagne. The good sort." He winks at her.

She smiles back and it's almost not strained at all. Harry wants to clap. "Of course, sir."

Steve watches her leave, making little effort to reign in his facial expressions. He is apparently very appreciative of her bum.

Harry frowns. He looks down at Steve's wedding ring, then back up at his face.

He must be blatantly obvious in his distaste because Nick pinches his side to get him away from those thoughts. When Harry meets Nick's eyes, all he gets is an intense stare. He can't really do much more because Steve decides to finally unglue his eyes from the waitress and slide them over to Nick. So instead, Nick gives Harry a completely neutral stare, the only emphasis in how long he drags it out.

Harry sighs. He needs a drink and for this party to be over.

###

Somehow, Harry ends up drunk and taking selfies, one on one, with most of the serving girls. Since this is their safe haven between plates and glasses and shiny silver countertops, there is the odd giggle and muffled scream, a level of unprofessionalism they wouldn't display outside.

Harry smiles, slings his arm around the girl that had served Steve and him earlier and extends his arm for another snap.

None of them have their phones, of course. Those are all downstairs, locked away while on shift. "How will we get these?" Katy asks from under his arm. They both examine the picture critically.

"I'll post them to my Instagram," Harry says and proceeds to do just that.

After a couple more autographs he just chats with the girls, all far more lovely than any of the executives outside. There's even two die-hard fans between them but no screaming and no fainting, the way there might have been some years ago and Harry loves this intimate chatter with fans.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. It's his private phone since he hadn't bothered bringing his work phone when actually going to work. It also means only a handful -- well okay only around 50 -- people have this number and they are all important to Harry, so he grabs it hastily.

_What are you playin at styles?_

A little thrill runs through Harry and he can't help but grin like an idiot. The girls have mostly drifted off, what with actually having a job to do. Only Katy hasn't left yet. She fixes him with a hard gaze then asks bluntly, "is that Louis?"

Harry smiles broadly at her and nods before typing out a simple reply.

_what?_

Katy claps her hands, bounces and makes dolphin noises. Shipper, then. Harry gives her a one-armed hug. She contains herself after that, even though her glee is palpable. Harry doesn't mind, he pretty much feels the same way when thinking about Louis.

_You just posted 8 pics of you and girls thats what!_

If possible, Harry's grin widens more. He catches Katy's eye and whispers only for them to hear, "he's jealous."

Katy sighs happily while balancing a laden tray on her little hand. She's quite skilled. She waves with her free hand, broad grin on her pretty face and leaves, but not before throwing over her shoulder, "tell your boy hi from me."

Harry snorts. It's still weird when fans comment on their relationship. Weird and wonderful.

_new friends of mine :) they say hi!_

_They dont look like radio execs._

_they could be tho_

_Harry._

_oh fine. but the real radio bigwigs were being misogynistic and married!! arseholes. these girls are nice._

Louis status changes to typing but nothing appears so he's probably deleting his texts before sending them out. They are most likely along the lines of an exasperated _Harry..._ or the stern _Youre working act like it!_ or the playful _You are *such* a slut_.

Instead Harry has to wait another few seconds before the message finally appears.

_I love you you idiot_

Sheer happiness explodes in Harry's chest. He actually still feels faint when Louis unexpectedly reminds him that yes, what they have is love. It's been years and Harry still has zero control when it comes to Louis. He hopes he never does.

Harry decides to reply with the tweet he sent out when they first went public. It's one of the most retweeted ones of all times, after all. It hasn't surpassed Louis' _always in my heart_ one, but hey. It's difficult to be jealous when, as of recently, the most retweeted tweet of all times is a love declaration aimed at yourself.

_very much still in love with Louis Tomlinson_

Louis, being a little shit back then and not much having changed, decides to play along and text his tweet from back then, too.

_@Harry_Styles dito_

###

Harry's vision is fuzzy.

The reason for that are the drinks from the after-party, which had pretty little umbrellas inside the almost neon liquids, so who's he to refuse?

It doesn't matter anyway, since the corridor he's walking down is his own. _No_ , he chides himself with a wagging finger in front of his nose. _Their own_. Slip of the tongue, that. Or better yet, slip of the mind. Ugh, his subconscious mind is lagging behind. But he's drunk, right. So it's okay.

Fuzzy vision and semantics aside, he's fine without a light. In fact, the darkness cancels out the blurriness he's seeing. So yes, darkness equals his friend. And he remembers the way just fine, thank you.

The floor is moving weirdly and causes him to stumble, only catching himself with a palm spread against the wall. Stupid moving floor. Usually it behaves like a floor should, just there on the ground, solid and _unmoving_. Harry glares at it for a microsecond then giggles.

"Sorry," he tells the floor. He feels like he needs to explain himself further so he adds, "'M drunk, you know?"

There's no response and Harry frowns before remembering that right, floors don't speak. He really is drunk.

He stumbles again (the floor is still moving, it makes walking _hard_ , okay). The painting of the pretty mermaid almost comes tumbling down when he knocks into it and he apologises to it as well. Maybe he's not as familiar with every corner and deceptively moving floor as he might have thought. "'S not my fault," Harry mumbles to the house in general. "Can't except -- expect me to know all your little secrets in, like, three months."

This isn't really his home yet at all, because three months for them involves a lot of traveling and pretty little actual staying at home. So there. "You're not my home," he tells the house. "Not yet," he adds so the house doesn't feel, like, sad and stuff. He likes the house. It's pretty and big and theirs. Plus, Louis loves it, too.

Harry grins. He loves Louis. Maybe this house is home after all, because he'll find Louis behind the bedroom door. _Louis_ , Harry thinks. _Louis, Louis, Louis._

 _My Louis_.

He giggles to himself and almost trips over his own feet again. He catches himself on a side table, which rattles precariously.

The blue-blackness and the hushed silence which follows is familiar and comforting. Harry likes the silence, probably because he's performed at so many concerts with loud screams that it feels like a treat to only hear his own soft breathing, a chance to let the night settle around him. It's also the exact opposite of the party just now, which consisted mainly of schmoozing (the actual party, where he met Steve) and invitations (the after-party), where women and men alike had given him suggestive offers. They'd been visibly dismayed when Harry Styles, international pop star and shameless flirt, had rejected them all politely. Some were accepting, some weren't. Harry chatted with the former and ignored the latter. People are weird. No, the media is weird. The public Harry Styles persona is especially weird, especially with how it's been replaced, should be Harry Tomlinson now.

All in all, Harry doesn't mind. Not really. It's part of the job and he's prepared to take the good with the bad, always has. And he kind of likes the attention. In his more maudlin moments he wonders if he'll turn into a bitter has-been once One Direction splits (again) and the hype dies down.

But he's not maudlin, now. He's drunk, and he's always been a happy drunk. At least once he's past the horny stage. Harry palms his crotch but there's only a feeble twitch. Wow, he must have had more cocktails than he thought.

Heh.

_Cocktails._

A yawn pops his jaw and he's startled by the noise. It also reminds him how tired he actually is.

Releasing a new album is still stressful, and even with their more relaxed schedules nowadays it's still gruelling work. The drinks he had are making it even harder to stay awake, stay focused now that he's home and with his guard down, the chatter from tonight a distant ringing in his ears.

His fingers stretch towards the cool wall and he trails his hand along while he walks. It feels dramatic enough for only a moment, so he shrugs out of his jacket and drops it to the floor, sways his hips a little on the next step and grins to himself. If there was an audience right now, they'd be screaming.

He opens the door to the master bedroom quietly, since Louis might already be sleeping.

He isn't.

Louis sits cross-legged on their huge bed, Macbook in his lap and reading glasses on his nose. They might be the most successful boyband on the planet and Harry their most advertised bandmate, but Louis working late, probably for the label he'd just taken over, makes Harry as giddy as a schoolgirl.

He looks up from the screen and smiles softly at Harry.

"Hey hubby."

Something breaks inside Harry, the way it does every time he's reminded that yes, he's married now. The feeling is still new and raw and yet Harry can't imagine not having Louis in his life like that.

"Hey." His voice is rough from the emotion but it's fine, it's only Louis, and Harry can always be himself around him.

Louis puts the laptop on the bedside table and slides off the bed. He's stupidly graceful and Harry isn't sure if he's envious or proud. A few steps later he's right there in Harry's space, standing on tip-toes and leaning in for a kiss.

"How'd it go?" he asks against Harry's lips.

Harry slides his arms around Louis' middle and pulls him closer. "Fine," he mumbles against the crooked smile. "Bit drunk though. And tired. Missed you there."

"Next time." Louis laughs softly, grabs Harry's wrist and pulls him to the bathroom. "Come on. I'm not having any more of your make up on the new sheets." It's not a lot of make up, just some foundation so he doesn't shine in the pictures and a little bit of mascara because Harry would be lying to himself if he didn't think it looked damn pretty.

His eyes trail down to the soft fabric of Louis' pyjama bottoms. He watches it shift over the moving muscle beneath while he's dragged to their en-suite bathroom.

Louis has the prettiest bum in the world.

And it's all Harry's.

Harry grins.

The light is excruciating when it flares to life, too bright and suddenly transforming all they greys into colours. Harry winces but Louis is having none of it.

Sighing theatrically, Harry grabs for his toothbrush first and goes through the motions on autopilot. He's exhausted and his eyes keep slipping shut until he feels Louis' hand on him; his shoulder, his hip, and he finds some reserve of energy.

"Here," Louis says gently and presses Harry's exfoliator into his hands when he's done.

Harry doesn't say anything, just sticks his fingers under the running water and complies. It's routine anyway and even though he's tired, Louis standing behind him makes it easier.

He hears Louis heft himself up to sit on the counter, dangling foot brushing Harry's leg. Everything is easier with Louis around, more purposeful. Always has.

The towel is right where it should be when he grabs for it blindly. He pats his face dry, then opens his eyes. Instead of looking at himself in the mirror he has eyes only for Louis.

"You missed a few spots," Louis says softly, lips curling into a small smile. He grabs for Harry, pulls him between his legs and then leans over to retrieve some cotton pads and Harry's make up remover. "Close your eyes."

Harry does as he's told, his hands coming to rest on Louis' thighs. Louis is gentle when he swipes the wet cotton across Harry's eyelids, humming to himself.

Harry slides a hand to the small of Louis' back and pulls. When their bodies touch completely, Louis wraps his legs around Harry's waist and crosses his ankles to lock him into place. Harry settles snugly between his thighs, a soft groan escaping him. If he were less tired, this position would make for an interesting pastime. 

The exhaustion must be written clear on his face, because Louis merely chuckles and moves to clean his other eye.

Harry squints to see him lost in concentration, tongue visible between parted lips as he continues to gently wipe away the last of this night's make up.

Once finished, Louis grabs the moisturiser and spreads it evenly over Harry's skin. He lingers over his favourite parts, like Harry's dimples and his bottom lip. Harry smiles when he notices and bites playfully at Louis' finger.

"There." It's all Louis has time for before Harry is leaning in for a kiss. After so many people, fake smiles and bright drinks, this is the best part of his evening. He falls into the kiss shamelessly, moulding himself to Louis smaller form, lets himself be wrapped up until all he can feel is Louis.

During the day Harry often wonders how so much life and energy can be contained in Louis' slighter frame. It can't, of course. It spills over and makes him appear larger than he is. Harry has tried to figure it out for years and still has no idea how Louis does it.

His hand finds its way into Louis' hair, and he pulls until Louis' head tilts back. A small sigh escapes him.

Harry pushes his tongue between those lips; he's not particularly gentle, not asking for permission. And Louis is just perfect and opens to him, his muscles going all limp, until he's like a rag doll in Harry's hands. Louis isn't often this passive, will fight Harry for dominance and make him work for every bit he controls. And Harry loves that, he does. But sometimes he also loves this, too.

When Louis is animated he seems big, bigger than Harry by far. When he's like this, soft and malleable he doesn't seem small either, which makes no sense. The only thing that makes sense is-

"You're magic, right?"

Louis snorts rather obnoxiously and tightens his thighs around Harry's hips. His hands slip down until his thumbs dig into the laurels.

"Are you calling me a fairy?"

Harry grins and nips at his chin. "Are those the ones that are insanely hot and tiny and perfect? Because then I do, yes."

Louis harrumphs and tells him to shut up before pulling him back in.

Their tongues are languid now, Louis' hands sliding under Harry's shirt and scratching gently down his back. He arches when Harry sucks on his tongue, groans right into Harry's mouth.

Eventually Louis pulls back gently. "Let's save it for tomorrow morning, love."

As lovely as this is, they both know it's not leading to sex. This is all about being close to someone you love, about comfort. About home.   Harry nods in agreement. A silent calmness settles over him as he breathes deeply for the first time tonight.

Louis pulls back, a smile playing on his lips as he pushes Harry out from between his thighs and jumps off the counter. For the second time that night Louis grabs Harry's wrist, turns off the light, and pulls him along.

"Come on, superstar. Time for bed."

And Harry follows without thinking, watching every step Louis takes.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading ♥  
> 


End file.
